Rendered Living
by GWristed
Summary: UPDATED! Post-war.  The process of becoming whole again perhaps for dear Pilot 02 and Zechs. One year after I Once Knew A Man. 6x2 and some past 1x2.    Chapter 6: As You Are Now
1. Chapter 1: Cuckoo

Title: Rendered Living

Chapter 1: Cuckoo

Author: Gillywrist

The story continues as I try to find answers to things un-addressed within me. Like 'I Once Knew A Man' this is not preconceived for a story, it is an exercise in free-writing to find some of my truths, and hopefully hint at some of yours.

As always, my dearest readers, reviews are most welcome and greatly appreciated.

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><p>He did just that for awhile.<p>

He fixed things. He ran his shop. He rested.

He did not try to figure anything out, or complain, or long for anything.

He stopped wanting things. Sure he would eat, he would shower, he would brush his hair.

He just stopped wanting _things_. He had broken his animal mind somewhere by wanting and never fulfilling that need. The animal finally gave up. It was a freedom, not having to do the things his mind wanted. It was a freedom to discover all the things he could live without.

God, he sounded like a monk.

He was, for all purposes, he reflected, chewing on his lip.

Quiet, ascetic, celibate.

He would stay up late into the night, one energy saving bulb in one energy saving socket, his set of screw drivers, and some ancient gadget.

A long time ago, he had described fixing things with magic words and curses. That had worked for shitty cars and gundam repairs. He quickly found it did not work on instruments corroded and delicate by the sands of time. They were fragile, these collections of old things. These clocks and radios and microphones and sound amplifers. They had been dead a long time. They needed to be whispered and soothed and prayed upon. They needed to be encouraged, ever so slowly, to spark back to life, one more time.

The clock was all that was left.

His rent was paid for the month on the squalor of a junkyard store, the back lot, and his small apartment upstairs.

His crackers and beans and nutrient shakes would see him through the next 14 days.

The rest of his meager earnings was spent on this last box of antiquated gadgets from another yard going under.

After this clock was done the box would be empty.

He would have to wait for a repair to come in, or he would have to find other old gadgets for the 7 credits left he had to spare. He would be lucky to find a broken transistor for 7 credits. And even that, one transistor, would only occupy his time for half a day.

He had stopped going to the old boxing gym awhile ago. He did not have the energy or need to hit anything. A lot of things had fallen away-up vanished in the night. He had not been paying enough attention to really notice.

Duo frowned as he stared out the barred window of his shop. The street was deserted. Judging from the amplitude of L2s artificial lights, it must have around noon. The lights were always brightest at that hour, the old generators humming from the strain of producing noon-time "sun."

The boy jumped as part of the clock popped open, dragging his attention back down to the wooden object under his fingers. "_Cuckoo, cuckoo_" the strange bird called weakly.

Duo managed a wry smile. It's like the bird wrote that song just for him.

It had been a hard battle to slow down like this.

At first, when his mind would not rest, he tried to rest his body. When that did not work, he forced his body to rest with opiates. He would stare at the ceiling of his apartment for days on end, thinking every thought and pissing in old beer bottles. Yea, he realized in afterthought as the timeline congealed, he had still been drinking back then.

When his mind finally realized it could not make his body run or fight or drink or eat, it had finally given up. With a final shudder it surrendered and seemed to flop down beside his body in defeat. The two of them, his mind and body, were finally able to rest together like man and dog.

And that was the beginning of the real silence.

With nothing in his head anymore, Duo had nothing to say. His mind was a lapdog of sorts. It would whine a bit for dinner, or to relieve itself, but it otherwise sat beside him, silent and sleeping.

Duo finally had a dog, after-all.

_Cuckoo, cuckoo._

So the clock was repaired then.

And he had seven credits to find a puzzle that would last until a new repair or customer came in.

He hopped off the stool and searched about his shelves for a space for the cuckoo clock to occupy.

And then he grabbed the last apple and a book titled "The Grapes of Wrath".

The streets outside his shop were quiet save for the occasional sound of a motor. It hardly piqued his interest. He had learned, over the last couple months, that the sound of a motor was answered with "that's not for you." The rumblings of a larger truck was sometimes a different story. This district of L2 was so deserted, junkyards often traded between themselves. And junkers had big trucks.

Duo sighed, rubbing at his stiff knee as he began to read, wincing as he felt the bone shift. It was with great irony, that his one lasting physical wound would occur months after the war ended.

The times were as tough as now. 4 credits and no puzzles. And so he scaled the barbed wire walls of the district dump, searching through piles of waste for anything salvageable to steal. He should have known better. The piles of scrap and sewage were as precariously balanced as always. He had still had some energy back then, he thought. Remembering how he would nimbly scramble up the cliffs of refuse and dare to pull out anything glinting under the artificial sun.

A rat had startled him.

Even to his own head, Duo was embarrassed enough to explain his comfort with rats. The mammal had just caught his attention mid-step and before he could realize he had placed his weight on soft refuse, his leg had been lost in the pile up to his thigh. It collided with a broken handsaw blade. It had been less than desirable to scale back over the barbed wire wall with a leg covered in blood and garbage juice.

The resulting fever of infection lasted 4 days. The ache, still apparent after 4 months. The final scar, rather small.

"_They's a time of change, an' when that comes, dyin' is a piece of all dyin', and bearin' is a piece of all bearin', an' bearin' an' dyin' is two pieces of the same thing. An' then things ain't so lonely anymore. An' then a hurt don't hurt so bad."_

Duo read over the lines again, swallowing back some spit.

The boy glanced up quickly as he heard the loud clinking of his silverware wind-chime tied to his door. He frowned. He had not heard a truck.

The man looked like he was in his late forties. Clean-shaven, sharp eyes.

Duo glanced at him with a _what_.

"You've got a reputation." The man said.

Duo did not answer.

The man shifted his weight, glancing around at the antique gadgets stuffing the shelves.

"You collect from a forgotten time."

The boy nodded, putting down his book.

"Not many customers looking for things so old."

Duo shrugged. "That suits me fine enough."

"But you could use a sell," The man's eyes raked over the boy's hollow cheeks, the loosely clinging t-shirt, the ratty hair, the scrawny arms.

Again Duo did not respond. He was not used to much company anymore. The nervous chatter of his youth had long since rusted out. It was not gone, probably, just all gunked up with atrophy. "Is that my reputation then? That's every dealer in this section."

The man did not answer this time.

"Whaddya got?"

The man's mouth pursed.

"It's hot," Duo said flatly.

"No," the man answered. "But it needs a certain discretion."

Duo coughed, "No proof of ownership? no license? illegal?"

"Rare," the man answered. "A bit.. volatile."

"Weapons," Duo breathed.

"From a forgotten time, like the rest of the things you collect."

Duo rolled his eyes. His brain was starting to race ahead, chemical, military-grade, decommissioned. There were many questions. It would yield, whatever it was. Whatever it was, he could move it. He sighed.

"Traceable?"

The man shook his head, shifting again on his feet.

The nerves in the man made him frown.

"How many other yards you try?"

"First lot," The man grunted.

The frown stayed on the boy's face. It was too much luck for a man to stumble into an ex-gundam pilot with weapons _first_. The hairs on his neck tickled in alarm.

Something was off.

Duo sighed again. Something was always off in this section, or for that matter, on L2 in general. He could handle hot, one-overs, re-worked, but something was more off than usual.

"Check the other lots. If you got no-takers, I'll think about it."

The man opened his mouth and Duo quickly raised a hand.

"Don't. I don't want to know what it is until I know no one else will lift it."

The man turned and left the shop as brusquely as he entered.

The boy winced as the door slammed shut and the silverware-chime clattered in protest. Guilt, guilt, guilt. He ran his fingers through his oily bangs, pushing them off his forehead. It was probably low-grade, appropriated, and going to be used as some cheap energy supply. _Or a chemical sold to a militia keen on wiping out some unsavory population like natives, indignants, orphans_, his brain taunted. Fuck. He drummed his fingers against his counter-top, twitching with remorseful energy. It was better that he didn't know. Someone else will lift it and he'll be none the wiser and back to his seven credit situation.

He was off the stool and out the door before he realized it. "Hey!" he called to the back of the man, coughing he pulled in a big gulp of the fiberglass dust that positively coated this section of L2. The man turned. He pressed his bandanna to his face, wiping the spit off his jaw before shaking his head. It was a slower measured breath and a lower voice as he caught up with the man on the road, "Lemme see what you've got before you go shopping it around."

The man looked unsure.

The glaring brightness and hum of the artificial afternoon light made the decision.

"Yea, alright," The man said, motioning to his car.

The corners of Duo's eyes tensed as he followed the man, careful not to stumble on the debris littering the road. In his experience, small usually meant dangerous. He cursed himself as he remembered not hearing a big rig earlier.

The lights of the car flashed as the man fished his keys out of his pocket and popped the trunk. Inside, a metal suitcase.

"Well that sure looks hot," Duo managed.

"What is unaccounted for is below radar," the man replied.

"By the look of that case it's dirty."

"I wouldn't cuddle with it," the man replied.

Duo pulled a small digital notepad from his pocket and unhooked the stylus pen. "The contents?"

"BTX."

"And a dispensing mechanism?"

"A neurotoxin is hardly of use without one."

"This is.." Duo trailed off.

"Out of your league?" the man sounded a bit snide.

"Not the reason I got into this business," Duo finished. "I'm assuming you want this passed quickly on a grayer market," he paled as he stared at the unassuming metal case. Howard would know what to do. Duo grimaced, maybe he would even try to track down Heero. A government agency like the Preventers might buy it off him to dismantle the thing. Old missles he had moved before. Small quantities of ammunition. No hollow points, no assault rifles. He had stuck to that promise, mostly (recalling the one box of 5.56mm lead-free M855A1 he took and moved to even a debt). "This is not something that should linger."

"What's the commission."

"Usually 15%. For this? 25%. It's a risk."

"Done," the man answered too quickly. He reached into the trunk and pushed the handle of the case into Duo's fingers.

"How long do you need?" the man said.

"48 hours. For 30% I'll do it in 10."

"48 will do," The man said tersely. "Make sure it is between 15 and 20."

"So only rich militias then?" Duo replied sardonically. "That might take longer."

"48 and no less then 12. Don't fuck me."

"48 and 12," Duo repeated back, throwing his head back to glare at the artificial lights.

12grand at 25% would cover him for a long while.

The man sped off and Duo was left in the road, gripping the metal suitcase in his numbing fingers. The thought of tracking Heero made him ill. But the bureaucracy of a government agency would be painful without 01's connections. Howard was a safer bet. The side of his mouth twisted in a small grin, he hadn't thought of the Sweepers in a long time. He missed that eccentric old man.

The distance between them had been on purpose. Howard always had an uncanny ability to read past his mannerisms. He had not been able to bear the man's gruff concern and pointed jokes. Howard had said sometimes certain people like pain. They hold it close to their chest and try to grow it like an aspidistra on a window sill. Howard said some people don't know when to quit. Don't know what it means to feel sated and stop. That some people eat far past full. And that these people, with fucked instincts, need a certain level of discipline or schedule to keep on, keeping on. Duo had never called it quits on pain. He'd never found his fill of it. It was too hard to stay on that ship of oddballs, whizkids, and mercenaries. The constant company had made him feel hounded. He had not answered a call from Howard since.

He cursed the heat in those artificial lights.

It was almost a year since that damn radio came back into his possession. A year since he had finished his own rambling account of his time with the Merquise. He had shoved those papers among his old junkyard filings. A move to dismiss and forget. He could not bear to glance the pages over. He had begun with no intention really, hoping that writing would exorcise some demon from him. Howard had recommended that. To write whatever shit he had rattling around between his ears to make space for something else. Something new. It had hardly worked. There was no new. Just empty and replaying memories he was sick of. Howard was probably right, he didn't know how to stop.

The only way a fairy tale ends is in medias res. It was a damning conclusion he could not shake from his mind. It was rendering living useless.

He walked back towards his shop, swinging the suitcase at his side like he was holding someone's hand. His knee was tight, protesting the run he had made after the man earlier. Refusing to walk with a limp, he simply ignored the pain and protest.

He would call Howard. Maybe the man would front him the 9 the seller needed and they would dismantle the thing and send it out the airlock.

Then Duo would be back at the start of his day with seven credits and The Grapes of Wrath. That suited him fine enough.

The braided boy gingerly nudged open his front door to avoid the clattering silverware, and the homemade alarm gave a few sleepy clinks. He pushed it closed with the back of his heeled work book, pressing the bandanna to his face to wipe off the dust caked on his cheeks and sweat-soaked forehead. He needed a shower.

He froze, pulling in a sharp breath. His ears had caught the breath of another.

And there was the cocking of a gun. If he had to guess a Glock 22 or 23.

Duo closed his eyes in an exhausted and resigned blink.

"Place the case on the floor," a haughty voice ordered from across the room.

He knew that voice.

"Nice to see you, Chang,"

The man was in an impeccably pressed suit, both hands on his gun as he stalked towards Duo. "An absolute disgrace," he spat, scanning the boy's clothes for a concealed weapon.

"I thought you guys always said 'Stop in the name of the law,'" Duo tried. "I'm unarmed."

The Preventer holstered his sidearm as he grabbed Duo's wrists, jerking them up behind his back and cuffing him tight. Duo hissed as he bent forward to alleviate the pain in his shoulders, scowling down at his workboots. The shoes on Wufei were shiny and black under L2's film of dust.

Wufei did not answer as he patted the boy's pockets, his calves, and his outer and inner thighs. "I didn't know you rolled that way," Duo said.

And the man's angry huff and a hard jerk to the cuffs was the only reply.

Duo's face burned as the agent palmed his ass as he checked back pockets, digging keys, a wrench, and a pocketknife out of them. The man waved the pocketknife in the boy's face.

"That's hardly armed," Duo defended, swearing as the man tugged his cuffs again.

"This is all a fucking game to you," Wufei growled, grabbed the boy's chestnut braid fiercely and Duo's body bent backwards, neck straining to alleviate the pain of his scalp. Fingers dug up under his braid, searching. During the War, Duo sometimes kept pins and picks in his hair to get in, or get out of certain circumstances. It wounded deeply that Wufei knew this. Few people ever did.

"I'm not a soldier anymore," Duo growled but there was a whine in his voice in protest to the pain in his shoulders, back, and neck. Wufei was busy digging out simple bobbypins.

"No you're a criminal," Wufei answered, wrapping his knuckles around the braid and tugging harder.

Duo had enough. He stomped the heel of his workboot into Wufei's shiny black foot as he struggled to wiggle free of the man's cruel hold. The man swore but refused to release his hold on his captive's hair, jerking him backwards. Off balance already, they both backwards on the plywood floor, Duo's back and cuffed hands smashing against the chinese boy's chest.

Duo bit his mouth in pain, struggling to get his knees under him. It was a precarious position, straddling the Preventer's waist backwards as he tried to find leverage to climb off.

A sharp snap on his braid had him reeling backwards and rolling off to the side, face crashing into the ground since he did not have free hands for balance or to brace his fall. "Damn," he swore as he felt the other man scramble to his feet and yank the boy up by his cuffed wrists. "Easy, easy," he winced, struggling to get his feet under him.

Other Preventers had stormed in at the commotion, and he felt himself pushed with disgust towards them.

"Remove his boots," he heard Wufei command, trying to stifle his winded pants. "And shackle his ankles."

Duo was mute as he was braced up against his own counter top. He was compliant as they removed his shoes and shackled his skinny joints. An agent looked at Wufei in question, a long chain was meant to attach to cuffs in front of the body. Duo's hands were cuffed behind him.

"Clip it in the back," Wufei snapped, answering the wordless request. "On a short line. He's a terrorist, agents."

The boy's eyes widened at that remark. It was an interesting choice. The pilots hated that word, they had all been disparaged in the media and disparaged themselves quietly during the war when sides got complicated and it was too easy to think they were, in fact, terrorists.

Duo swallowed a yelp as he was bent backwards as his ankles were attached on a short chain to his wrists. He wriggled his fingers, already numb and cold from failed circulation.

An agent pulled a commlink out of his waistband and turned to Wufei. "The vehicle is out front."

Chang nodded, mouth tight as he turned to once-over Maxwell. The tight fist made Duo flinch. His waist pressed forward and his back arched to take some stress off his hands, the position was unnerving in the wake of the agent's dark anger. Like he was positively advertising a hit to the guts.

"I have honor enough to not strike you," Wufei seethed, sneering at the flinch. "I uphold the law. Unlike those who live to _defile_ it."

Duo did not try to shrug, eyes flat and serious. "Out of 10 thousand sperm, it's a wonder _you _were the fastest. Then again, you always did hitch your ride to whoever seemed most likely to _win_."

The man's eyes darkened with fury at the spin about his days with Mariamaia Army.

"Liar," he accused in a soft low voice, anger reigned in by a thread. He motioned for the agents to move him to the car.

"Yea well I thought you knew _me_ better too, pal."

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><p>(My dear ones who took the time to read this! I thank you and I am deeply humbled. More soon!)<p> 


	2. Chapter 2: The Edge of All Things

Title: Rendered Living

Chapter 2: The Edge of All Things

Author: Gillywrist

As always, my dearest readers, reviews are most welcome and greatly appreciated.

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><p>An agent on each elbow helped him along. A blacked out Crown Vic was waiting in the middle of the deserted road. Duo was pushed into the car backwards, twisting towards the window. The only position he could manage with some comfort was sideways, with his shoulder pressed against the back of the seat.<p>

He heard the other back door open, craning his head to see who would be sharing the backseat with him. It was Wufei.

They both stewed for awhile.

Wufei on his smart phone.

Duo following the shapes of the ransacked buildings with his eyes.

"I wasn't selling it to bad guys," Duo said finally, eyes still trained on the buildings falling in and out of his sight.

Wufei ignored him.

"I wasn't selling it to bad guys," Duo repeated, grimacing as he twisted around to try and meet Wufei's face. He flopped and struggled like a fish on a boat deck until he was finally reversed, other shoulder pressed into the backseat, and his gaze on the passenger next to him.

"You have the right to remain silent," Wufei warned. "Anything you say _will _be used against you."

Duo snorted. "What am I, on a fucking sitcom? You shouldn't even _legally_ be on this case."

"I am trusted to act in a professional and honorable manner," Wufei sniffed, eyes never leaving his smart phone. "I suggest you try and do the same."

"You know me better than that."

"Unfortunately," was Wufei's reply.

"Have you," and with this Duo licked his dry lips, tongue toying with the sore wound. He glanced away. "Have you seen him?"

"Who." Wufei answered, finally looking up from the small screen in his hand. "Yes. He does work for the agency."

"How uh. is he?" Duo pressed. His aching shoulders were making him agitated. Perhaps somewhere he thought mental torture would be a good distraction.

"Fine," Wufei answered. "Able to conduct himself professionally." He sent Duo a pointed look.

"Yea, well.." Duo trailed off, another wince as he wriggled his fingers.

"He's fine, Maxwell," Wufei said again.

"Good," Duo managed. "Sorry about your foot. And the Mariamaia thing I uh. shouldn't have mentioned that. I don't actually think that's why you-"

Wufei grunted in affirmation and perhaps an effort to cut him off.

The rest of the trip was in silence. Wufei went back to scanning the screen in his hand and Duo contented himself watching the face of his former comrade.

The chinese man looked older, maybe it was the suit, but he looked like a professional working man. His self-discipline wore on his features like a burden of responsibility, like he was a father or something. The man's hair was pulled back in the same tight ponytail. Duo did not know if he grew much facial hair, but the man was cleanshaven. He looked good. Alert, healthy. Duo sighed.

The car pulled into a larger spaceport and Duo tried to glance out the back window to identify which, cursing and twisting as an agent opened his car door and sought to yank Duo out by the arms. "Fuck! Careful for fucks-! easy, easy-" he pleaded, scouting backwards to try and ease the pressure.

Wufei had already gotten out of the car and stood beside him, "Let's go."

Duo scowled. Since he couldn't bend forward enough to keep his eyes on the ground, he threw his head back to the sky. Watching transports arrive and depart. So many people going to so many places.

He hissed as Wufei tugged on his cuffs, trying to drag his attention back to the present.

Duo sent the boy a pleading glance as he shuffled forward.

"I'll remove them once we are in space," Wufei answered.

"Space," Duo echoed, staring wistfully at the transports taking off. He was steered towards a small private ship, dutifully shuffling up the ramp and ducking through the hatchway.

Duo scanned the corridor as he was pushed forward, moving to the side as the agents moved to the small control deck. He leaned against a wall for balance as the transport began to vibrate and lift, sighing against his inability to simply take a seat with his body cuffed like this.

Agent Chang had disappeared and two younger agents had trained their guns on him in reflex. Warning him to stay still and not attempt anything strange.

The moment they cleared the artificial atmosphere, Wufei returned with a cup of tea in a styrofoam cup, fishing for the keys in the front pocket of his suit. "Make me regret this and you'll fly the rest of the way bagged and blind," he said. There was no anger in his tone. It was delivered as a simple statement.

"Yea well I'm not about to-"

"And not another word," Wufei cut in, unlocking the cuffs.

Duo bit back a whine as his numb arms swung loosely to the side of his body, rolling his wrists and wriggling his fingers to get the blood moving again. His eyes were tight against the pins and needles and the ache in his shoulders. He rolled his neck to alleviate some pressure, glaring darkly at the two younger agents like it was their doing.

"Take a seat, Maxwell," Wufei said, pushing him down in a chair. "And don't touch anything." The agent pinched the bridge of his nose, like he was trying to alleviate a tension headache. He glanced down at his watch. "Two hours til landing. Leave my agents alone." He gave Duo a long look, eyes sharp and long brows arched in disdain. And then he left. Leaving Duo alone with the two stooges.

The next two hours passed in silence. Duo listened to the ship and stared out the small window on the port side, mesmerized by the dark and the twinkling stars. He heard the agents shift, every so often one agent, the blonde one, would move his gun to his other hand. He seemed to favor the right. Right-handed, figures.

The other agent, who looked like he was from the Philippines, had already rested his gun on the small table between them and was reading a newspaper.

The blonde one and the dark one.

Duo tried to guess which one was older until he noticed all the staring seemed to freak the blonde out.

Maxwell turned his attention back to the stars.

He was not in the mood to goad and play when his shoulders still ached. He was not in the mood because he had missed the lonely ache that came from watching so many twinkling lights in the vast empty darkness.

His feet were cold on the metal floor of the ships deck. He moved to sit indian-style, trying to warm up his feet in his hands. It was unnerving to be barefoot. Vulnerable. Not like any other part of his circumstance made him feel safe. Still. He stared down at his slender pale feet. At the dust and dirt under his toenails courtesy of this barefoot adventure. Of the dusting of hair on his big toe. On the funny twist in his pinky toes.

He gingerly pressed a couple fingers to his cheekbone, grimacing as it felt tender and warm to the touch. He did not feel bad for sending them both crashing to the floor of his shop earlier. The bruise was worth it. Shoeless worth it. Even if they slap him with resisting arrest- worth it. He had a thing against shiny shoes and shitty friends.

He frowned as he wondered what possessed him to ask Wufei about Heero. _Fine. Able to conduct himself professionally_. Well wasn't that always Heero. Always fine. Durable.

The boy swung his braid over his shoulder, feeling over the ragged frizzy plait.

Hopefully Heero was out on assignment. Hopefully Heero was not called in to deal with whatever this was.

Duo swallowed hard, fighting a rising tide of turmoil.

Out of anyone still alive, Heero had been allowed the closest to him.

Had been. Out of anyone still alive.

He pulled in a sharp breath, glancing over at the blonde agent with the gun and then back out the window.

His right hand had taken on a life of it's own in the past couple minutes of shit brain digressions, tapping against his knee in a fast sixteenth note rhythm. A symptom of anxiety. It had been happening for about a year now.

He hung his head, staring down at his tapping hand. If he tried to stop it from tapping, his foot would start tapping in it's stead.

He had to calm down.

He pulled through his memories for something solid.

A couple months ago by now, after the drinking stopped, before he found that cuckoo clock, and after his knee got garbage juiced, he had invented a game. His mouth twisted at his thoughts, he had such a bad grasp on the time of things these days. Of hours and days and weeks.

He would stare at objects that fell into his line of vision and he would repeat in his mind how it did not mean anything. He would stare at a sound amplifier, later the clock he was working on, his tools, a book cover.

The clock does not mean anything.

He would say it over and over, refusing to blink far past the burning in his eyes. He would stare at the clock until it started to lose focus. The clock does not mean anything, the clock does not mean anything. His mouth set in a grim line against the smarting pain in his irises.

The clock does not mean anything.

And for the briefest of moments it would fade out of vision.

And it would lose all tangible physical value.

For the briefest of moments he would feel like he escaped the set of parameters that comprised his reality. He would slip through the paradigm of three-dimensional existence. Of linear time.

Things would go still.

The briefest of moments would feel like the longest of seconds and -

then he would blink.

And he would be tired and alone in his tiny storefront.

It was a boring game, to be sure, but it helped take away, well, something he had been trying to lose.

Just what he was trying to lose was rather hard to say. The vagueness being the utter point. The un-definability. The outside of linear worlds with linear time.

It was wild whatever it was. It was stuck in the quivering tension of a whine, the teeth baring snarl when cornered, the hyper-awareness of his environment. The tapping. The noises, the smells. His brain would run a mile a minute categorizing them all as threats or opportunities. Pizza, urine, generator humming, shower water drumming, car exhaust, rig exhaust, exhausting. All noted and sorted and noted and sorted and noted and sorted.

And his hand would just tap, tap, tap in the nervousness of it all. The tightness.

His boring game shut that down. His boring game, through sheer will and mantra, stripped all objects of their ability to be sorted. If everything does not mean anything, it's all just in one big category. Simple.

The problem, Duo just realized, staring hard out the window, was while the game worked on all the objects he had ever tried, from his clocks, to his braid, to his most recent flight companions, it did not quite work with the stars.

To break from time, Duo needed to repeat the mantra until he believed it, and he needed to stare at the object for so long he basically saw _past_ it.

Staring back out the window into space, he was having difficulty believing anything about the vast constellations of little lights. He kept repeating the phrase in his head, (the stars do not mean anything) but it did not stick, it did not grow. The very thought would not hold.

Outer-space was too empty to contain a thought as to it's meaning. It meant everything as readily as it meant nothing. It was too vast to pressure with a specific sentiment.

It was empty words.

And how could he see _past _the very edge of all Things?

The game had failed.

He sighed against the growing mania, fidgeting in his seat. The sharp edge was growing on his thoughts.

He was the leader of a pack long disbanded.

A lone wolf howling coordinates to the heavens.

It was uncomfortable.

And his hand was still tapping.

He was so tired of feeling so nervous.

The boy glanced over at the gun in the blonde's hand. One lucky bullet could shut down his neurotic brain forever.

The transport began to rumble. They would be entering Earth's atmosphere soon.

As if on queue Wufei emerged from the small hallway with the cuffs in his fingers. He shot a quick look at both agents, and they were already alert with their guns pointed at Duo's chest.

Duo shot his fellow pilot a dark look, holding his hands up in surrender as he stood up slowly. No one knows how twitchy new agents are with virgin guns. And Duo knew his luck too well to trust he could win a brain bullet from all of this.

Wufei grabbed his wrists and twisted them behind his back and Duo stared hard at the ground, a scowl on his face as his hands were locked tight against the small of his back. He raised to his tip toes in protest, arching a bit as the cuffs dug into his skin. The agent tightened them even further and Duo held his breath as he heard the extra click, click, click "Fuck..Fei," he cursed softly. "I'm not _this_ dangerous."

"Twenty minutes til arrival," Agent Chang informed the agents.

"You'll have to amputate these by then," Duo grumbled.

"Cuff his ankles," Wufei told the agents, arms outstretched to hand over the chains.

"_Fuck you_ man," Duo answered, and it sounded more casual than he felt.

Maxwell twisted around as he leaned against the wall for support, ignoring the agents cuffing his jeans so his ankles were free of denim before attaching the cuffs and chain between them.

For a moment he considered flashing the blonde kneeling in front of his waist a waggish smile.

He thought better of it. He was too exhausted and frazzled to fuck with anyone properly.

The time to embarrass the blonde would have to wait.

Before long they were on the ground.

He listened to the different hums and external cooling vents and ignored the two young agents who had since maneuvered to grab his elbows.

The hatch opened and Wufei led the group off the ship. The other two agents (who piloted the transport) a couple steps behind and flanking him.

The boy pulled in a deep breath of Earth's air. It smelled like it was alive.

It's the only way he could describe it compared to colony generator air. Earth air smelled awake and animate.

It had been a long time.

The sky was a bright blue. It might have been around early afternoon.

Duo never knew enough about the position of the sun or the shadows on the buildings to accurately pinpoint time. He was a colony kid. Their shit 'sun' lights did not move across the heavens.

It was hot. Mid 80s.

Less oppressive then the sweltering caged 90s of L2 simulated summer.

He struggled to keep up with the pressure on his elbows. Struggling against the sun-hot rocky gravel of the Preventer back lot. He wanted to walk gingerly.

The agents were in a hurry.

He moved his eyes to the sky, it had been so long since he had seen fluffy puffy clouds.

And then he gasped. Bare feet tripping as he felt something very sharp dig into his right foot.

He pitched forward. The blonde grabbed his braid (oh how this blonde would get his eventually) and the other agents whirled around and guns were drawn.

It was ridiculous.

"Move Maxwell," Wufei said.

"My foot you retard," Maxwell ground out, glaring at the blonde with a force that made him drop the braid like it burned. He hopped as he shifted his weight to his one good food, not quite able to twist his foot up to evaluate the bottom of it with the damn chains. "Shit happens when your parking lot has broken glass and your prisoner _ain't got shoes._"

Wufei frowned, motioning to the men to holster their guns. "I'll call down a medic," Agent Chang said simply but he looked contrite.

Duo shook his head at the pathetic comedy of five touchy agents and a shackled, barefoot, now bleeding, dirty, limping junk dealer.

It was a dark comedy.

The gravel changed to pavement and they were moving through a side entrance of an imposing cement gray building. A flash of a key card got them through sliding glass doors and the linoleum smooth floor was a welcome change on his smarting feet.

The blood gave one foot no traction, not that he was putting much weight on it anyway.

He squirmed as he glanced over his shoulder, contented that one horror movie footprint was fucking up the otherwise pristine floor.

_Fuckers._

The hallway was crowded. A lot of people were curious about the fallen war hero. The gundam degenerate.

He was too annoyed to look anyone in the face.

He avoided their contempt and curiosity.

_Freakshow_.

He was pushed into a classic interrogation/debriefing room. The boy squinted against the flat fluorescent light on the white walls. Snorting at the singular metal table with one metal chair on the far side, and two metal chairs on the side closest to the door.

The Filipino agent mumbled something about getting a medical kit and he was left alone to hobble over to the chair.

The room was cold with air-conditioning. The ceilings were high. The vents small. Not that he was in any shape to be-

He just let that thought die mid-sentence.

He sat down. Grateful his ankles had not been chained to his red-raw wrists like earlier.

He clamped down on his bottom lip hard.

This _sucked_.

This sucked so very hard.

Empty white room. 3 chairs. One table. And the goddamn mirror window going down one side. He wondered if a packed house watched from the no doubt tiny viewing room.

They should sell tickets.

_Freakshow_.

He glanced down at the metal table. Leaning forward so he could rest his bruised cheek on it's cold surface. He was smart enough to not try to wriggle cold numb fingers.

They felt pale and blue. Without eyes in the back of his head he could not be sure.

He closed his eyes, pulling in a deep shuddering breath.

His lungs racked a bit with a helpless sob.

Goddamn.

Was the medical kit on the eighth damn floor?

He heard the door open (_bingo_) and he waited a beat, eyes still closed before, with tremendous effort, he twisted to raise his head from the table and open his heavy eyes.

His mouth fell open.

Moving quickly into the room, striding in that same determined precise stride, hair at the same mid-shoulder length, clean, grim-faced, determined, was _him_.

Him. Dead him. Him that fucking died and exploded years ago during a botched attempt to fuck up the very Earth he was now captive upon.

"You," Duo choked, eyes wide, "You-" he floundered.

The man was at his side, guilt heavy on his face. Waiting for the accusations, the condemnation.

"You _fell_. You-" he looked away, blinking hard. He was pulling in rapid shallow breaths.

And then a hand cupped his chin and forced his head up. The other hand, swept his bangs to the side of his face. The ice blue eyes were soft as they surveyed those indigo violet orbs and the bruising cheek. He found no anger or accusation in them.

"What _is_ it about you that has them treat you this way." The voice incredulous.

Maxwell felt his cheeks heat up. He was terribly embarrassed to be caught red-handed. And now with him. Alive. Here.

A wry smile twisted over his lips. He shrugged, searching those ice eyes.

"We don't have much time," the agent said.

They were both lost in some fucked déjà vu.

Duo's ears were roaring with a deafening wave.

The man leaned down close to his ear.

It felt familiar. The ash blonde hair tickled over his face and the man smelled clean like soap and a hint of aftershave.

"I need you to tell me everything,"

"Don't fuck me," Duo said weakly, glancing over at the mirrored window. There was no doubt microphones in the room. He closed his eyes, pressing his cheek against the man's and breathing in the smell of him.

Zechs snorted softly. "That door is locked. The mics are off. Let me help you."

It was the same offer as last time and last time and last time.

Only this time, Duo was too delirious, too gone, to care about his dignity and self-determination.

"Trust me Duo. We haven't much-"

"BTX & a dispensing agent. The deal made at 12grand to a man with a car. He commissioned me at 25% moved in 48 hours. I had never seen him before. I wasn't going to-"

The man was nodding, cutting him off. "You've worked for me on deep cover. The crosley pup radio I sent you a year ago was the first and last drop. I went outside of channels because it may implicate people _here_." He pulled back so he could glance Duo's eyes, swearing as he glanced down at the floor and saw the blood on the linoleum.

"I'll get a med kit," Zechs said.

"Don't. _They're_ on it. Broken glass. I'm" his breath hitched, "fine."

"Hardly," Zechs answered. If a voice could be wry and tight. That was it.

He dug into his front pocket. Kneeling to undo the cuffs on the boy's ankles and then moving behind him to undo the ones on his wrists.

"Jesus," the man swore softly as the cuffs clicked open and Duo winced as he brought his limp hands to the front of his body. They were cold and a purplish red. "Beasts," the word was sharp with arrogant disdain.

"Pigs," Duo supplied wearily, the corners of his eyes tight as he wriggled his fingers. He was grateful to be able to finally lean back on the chair.

"We usually don't-"

Duo shot him a dark look.

"Forms of torture are always endemic," the man conceded softly, instead.

He moved back to the shell of Duo's ear, whispering "There is 15grand in a Preventer account named Barrio. Password: Deathscythe Hell. The questioning should not even get that far. The paperwork is moving already. Demand a lawyer. I will be back for you."

He pulled back, sliding the keys back in his pocket and shifting the cuffs to his other hands. He shot Duo another look. "I _will_. Don't doubt it." He grinned, albeit forced, with anger still heavy in his eyes, "Give 'em hell."

A feral smile twisted the corners of the boy's mouth. It was ugly and crooked but he only had the strength to hold onto darkness. "And as the"

"God of Death, I know you know how," Zechs finished smoothly.

The man moved to the door, turning to look at Duo once more. And then he was gone.

* * *

><p>(My dear ones who took the time to read this! I thank you and I am deeply humbled. More soon!)<p>

REVIEWS:

Dyna: Hah, I agree and I'm amused. No one does do prick better than Wufei. Oh poor poor Wufei.

Solitairesworld: Ah to have you back as a reader, my dear! I torture Duo so terribly sometimes. But, but! This story exists to be something more then the last. Different conclusions, forging new ground. Sometimes, perhaps, it takes more courage to stop hurting. We'll see if our dear boy gets there. I'm grateful to have you back!

HybridPlaything: I think this chapter will sound more reasonable. I hope so! I think my version of these two pilots both have a hard time empathizing with each other. In one of the final chapters of the last story Duo mentions something along the lines of he never felt entitled to have integrity, a virtue very important to Wufei. Their belief structures and sense of morals come from a very different place and make for a bit of oil and water in my mind. Not about everything, but some things. This thing, for sure.

Semjaza: I'm so pleased you can relate! It makes me so humbled to share a truth of mine that reminds you of yourself! It is perhaps one of the most singular reasons I write at all. Your review was so lovely, thank you! I cannot wait for you to see more.

wind dancer1981: I'm glad for it too. & I will!

Gabi1994: Well I grinned at every word you wrote. It was very kind of you to share such words. With Duo as the author of the experiences, the story just feels this way for me. I wonder what a story about Zechs would sound like. To me, Duo has no love for authority or formal rules. I've kept his 'motto' of running and hiding but never lying at the tips of my fingers. I think he lies to himself a bit, dodges issues, runs, and so his honesty is a bit confusing at times. I love the line about letting it soak into the gray matter. I think (I hope) what is confusing to readers is still confusing to Duo himself and with time, and some soaking, enough of his character and soul will congeal here for us and for him.


	3. Chapter 3: The Usual Course of Things

Title: Rendered Living

Chapter 3: The Usual Course of Things

Author: Gillywrist

It's been awhile. I thank you all for your patience. I simply had nothing to say for awhile. Not so unlike Duo in the first chapter. Unfortunately or fortunately, I do not like to write for you all when I have nothing of tangible value to say. And I had felt that way for the past couple months. Thank you again for your patience and for hanging in there with me. As things piece back together I am sure I will be able to share what I find to be true once more. This is short. An intermission scene made awhile ago. I'm starting again. And I wanted to start somewhere new. So here's something old. Look for a new chapter soon.

As always, my dearest readers, reviews are most welcome and greatly appreciated.

* * *

><p>He stared at the door for awhile. Mouth slightly agape, mind for all purposes, blank.<p>

Zechs.

It was just that name over and over.

Nothing and then just a name.

Zechs.

He could not think any further into what it meant to have him alive and here and a _Preventer_.

Duo growled. The Preventers would be back soon.

It was game time.

He exhaled hard, grimacing as he maneuvered his bleeding foot onto the cold metal table in front of him. Shaking his wrists again he peered over, as he stared at the dirty and sluggishly red pad of his foot. _Rat Bastards_.

Zechs.

He frowned.

Rat bastards.

He had to focus now.

Zechs.

The boy sighed, pushing his sweat-soaked bangs out of his eyes. He clamped down on his lip.

The door slid open.

He _had_ to focus now.

It was the blonde followed by his compatriot with the medical kit.

"I would like some coffee," Duo tried jovially. It sounded weak. He coughed. "And some smokes. And some photographs," he wriggled his bloody toes. "Of my _treatment_ so far and.." he paused as Wufei pushed past both of them. "A lawyer."

Wufei snorted.

"Am I being detained or am I free to go?" Duo wriggled his toes again. The smile was weakly waggish. _C'mon Maxwell_.

Wufei rolled his eyes.

"You are clearly detained," the blonde answered, setting some files down on the metal desk. Blondie was cocky back in his own building.

"What reasonable suspicion do you have to detain me?"

"Maxwell-" the tone from Chang was a warning.

"It's all right here," the blonde said, motioning to the file.

"Would you be so kind as to read it to me?" This time the smile twisted.

Two more men appeared in the doorway and motioned for Wufei's attention. With a final glare at Maxwell the man huffed and left with the men.

So it was back to the blonde one and the dark one.

The Filipino man moved over to the metal table, taking a free seat as he set the medical kit down on the table. The blonde stayed standing.

Duo glanced at both of them, waiting for the Preventer Agent to unzip the medical case, remove supplies, put on gloves. He feigned boredom. And then he grinned. It was slow and as it grew it gnarled like the roots of an old oak tree. It was ugly with his eyes so cold. It taunted them. "I formally refuse medical care." He said it like he was ordering a coffee.

The man frowned, opening his mouth to protest.

"Agent..." Duo tried. "Agent?"

"Torres," the man supplied.

"Agent Torres," Duo began again. "I formally refuse medical care." He wriggled his toes again, keeping his eyes locked on the man's dark eyes flicker over the small pool of blood on the metal table.

"Noted," the blonde snapped, a little loud.

"Is that for the microphones or the gangbang behind the mirror," Duo tried with a saccharine sweetness, a bitter aftertaste with the sneer.

"You'll learn a lot about gangbangs in prison when you're rotting like the scum you-" It was a scathing whisper. The blonde.

"Was that a threat against my physical person?" Duo asked towards the 2-way mirror, before snapping his eyes back on the vehement face of the blonde. "What's your badge number?"

"I can just remove the broken glass," the Filipino man supplied, holding up his gloved hands in supplication.

"I won't forget you," Duo said simply, eyes still locked on the blue eyes of the blonde. He turned towards the Filipino man. "Thanks Torres, for that, I _will _forget you."

He leaned back in his chair, pushing against the table so the two front legs of the chair were off the ground. "Well boys, here we are. I have not yet been told about the reasonable suspicion to detain me. I consent to no searches and seizures. Although no doubt both have happened against my will. I was injured while illegally detained because of circumstances under Preventer control and the unnecessary and unusual removal of my shoes. And again I ask for a lawyer." He paused, pulling in a breath and grinning at the blonde. "So, you got a straight flush Blondie or you gonna fold?" He leaned forward, setting all four chair legs back down on the ground. He moved his leg off the table, resting forward on the table on his elbows. "Because it's looking like a pretty ragged flop." He leaned back again on the chair with a wide smile, moving his injured foot smack back on the metal table for effect.

"Mr. Maxwell," Torres tried again, eyeing the bloodied dirty appendage. "If you would please-"

And the door banged open. It was Wufei, Commander Une, and _Him_.

The platinum blonde's face was tight and reserved, but Duo saw a flash of amusement in his eyes. The boy visibly relaxed, letting out a long exhale.

Both Agents turned around and abruptly stood at the presence of the Commander.

"At ease," she said dismissively, clucking in disapproval at the state of affairs. Duo was disheveled and wounded, far beneath her standards for precision and order. "In fact, leave us."

"Later, _buddies_," Duo supplied with a wave.

Zechs sighed. Une frowned in disapproval. Wufei was silent. His mouth pressed in a firm tight line. He did not say a word. Eyes dark. His face was pinched with resignation.

"Mr. Maxwell," Commander Une began, glancing at his foot and then back at his face. "I regret your treatment with us thus far. I assure you. It is not our usual course of things."

She sniffed.

"It appears our communications had been crossed. Part of our department was unaware you were a part of another operation running simultaneously in a block of L2." She shot Wufei a sour look. "It is the nature of a young organization where _some_ take things at face value. And others, for whom, with _business_.." she paused, searching for a word, "everything is unnecessarily obscured."

Zechs grimaced.

"Shadows and light," Duo answered smoothly.

Une nodded, looking a bit relieved at Duo's bright tone.

"Fair enough," he continued, speaking slowly and clearly. "As long as this is all cleared up," he shrugged.

Wufei huffed.

Une forced a smile. "Zechs take him down to see Po." She stared at Duo.

He wondered if she had been behind the mirror.

"Yes ma'am," Duo answered, wincing as he moved his now pins-and-needles leg off the table and back to the floor. He gingerly moved to stand, bracing his palms on the table. Zechs was at his side, leaning down so Duo could throw an arm around his shoulder.

"I'm not that fucked," he protested. The curse trailed off in a whisper as it tumbled out of his mouth, wincing at the crude language in front of the Commander.

"Indulge me," Zechs answered, and Duo, body-tired and soul boneless, meekly complied.

"Chang," Une said, turning, "Have Pavlik clean this up."

Wufei nodded and turned on his heel as he walked out the door.

Zechs glanced at the Commander's pursed face, wrapping his arm around the boy's waist as he helped maneuver Duo around the table and out of the room.

* * *

><p>(My dear ones who took the time to read this! I thank you and I am deeply humbled if any of you are still here. More coming on the sooner side of things!)<p>

REVIEWS:

snowdragonct: Thank you! I am overjoyed my own ramblings sound authentic and not just the jumbled ravings of a lunatic. I adore Kraken. There are certain writers and certain stories that get it so right, I sort of decide to make it a part of my personal canon of how it 'should have been.' Kraken and Ajayd's writings are like that for me. A nod to their worlds in homage. They got it so right I refuse to 'see' it another way. I've read Lawless Hearts over the years, loved it, and so I perhaps began the same. Hot L2 Summer, Illegal Deal. That's the jump point. The rest is my own bizarre little tale. There will be more explanations of Duo & Heeo. But this, like the last, is driven by the relationship between Duo and Zechs.

Gabi1994: I agree with you wholeheartedly. The problem with giving readers what they want to see is it creates expectations that are fulfilled (since it is so predictable.) It is awful to have expectations. Expectations in life are usually never met. Situations are both better and worse or created or resolved in ways one could never foresee. I like that. I work to lose my expectations of future events and things. I am trying to be truthful, share things that are helpful, and in a way that is (if sometimes a bit scrambled) authentic. I unfortunately do not give readers what they want. Because as a reader for so long, what I want is not what I need. When I turn to a story and a point of view of someone outside myself I am looking for something. If I get what I want (happy fluff/ super angst) I am just escaping. I am not searching to stumble upon what I need. I've had my needs met in those beautiful rare stories that have shattered parts of me that needed the shattering. I do not expect to provide such a profound service with this story, but to get there one day with one story and just one stranger is the ultimate goal. The giving back to this beloved community (that nursed and escaped and amused me over the years) in that way. And the shattering. 2. There is no easy reintegration after violence of any kind. Especially prolonged violence. It does damage. It must be both interesting and heartbreaking to read about those child soldiers. I am glad you are enjoying the exposed darkside of things.

Semjaza: Thank you. That is a beautiful thing to say. I was hoping the characters seem plausible considering all they have been through.

Karina001: I like the idea that we are all co-creators of our own reality. I feel like Duo attracts this abuse because he is hurting and feels abused. While he might not walk around has a victim, I feel he has often been so victimized he looks for it. His soul has some things to work out with violence and victimization so he attracts that towards him.. perhaps to keep re-examining his thoughts and patterns. perhaps to heal.

Solitaire: My dear Solitaire! I am well! I hope you are too! Inside of him for sure. What we see outside is a reflection of inside a lot. The choice to make the outside melt away is often a choice to make the inside disappear! In my mind, anyway.

Mori Lina: WOW! I do that sometimes. Positively devour a whole story. That's wonderful! Ah I am pleased to hear! As far as the magnet for trouble see Karina001 review response for my theory on the matter :) Welcome! I am so glad to have you as a reader!

Leila Nami: It was a strange combination of things that led to this. Me being back. It was a combination of timings and your review all these months later. When I conveniently thought I was forgotten and using that as an excuse. Hold onto that hope. I don't know what will happen. I know what I want. But I cannot write what I do not believe. The hope is I will believe again. We will hope together!


	4. Chapter 4: I'm a Bleeder Now

Title: Rendered Living

Chapter 4: I'm a Bleeder Now

Author: Gillywrist

As always, my dearest readers, reviews are most welcome and greatly appreciated.

* * *

><p>It always so easily felt like old times between them.<p>

Like the halls of ancient kings. Like they had done this before.

Dusty but comfortable.

Banquets and bone-tired.

They maneuvered down the hall in silence. The halls were empty.

The wrath of Une must have announced the show was over.

And so they walked, Duo more interested in the swishing platinum blonde hair beside him then the horror movie footprints on the floor.

They waited for the sliding metal doors to ping and slide.

It did.

And once Duo was able to lean against the back wall of the elevator for support, Zechs removed his arm from his waist.

They both glanced at the bloody footprints as the doors slid to a close.

"Impressive," Zechs said.

Duo's face felt stiff as a smirk reached his teeth. "I _do _try," he said.

"You succeed," Zechs answered. It sounded as solemn as a promise.

Ping. Ping. Ping.

The doors opened then, and Zechs moved closer to help support him once more.

This corridor was long and narrow.

"Through here," The voice as low as a whisper. This floor was so quiet it seemed to command softer tones.

Duo nodded as they maneuvered through the doorway.

Sally was waiting for them, motioning them towards an examination table to the left of the door.

She frowned at the floor before her eyes softened in question at Zechs.

"A broken bottle in the parking lot," Duo supplied, before Zechs had time to open his mouth.

"Une already called down about that," Sally brushed off, motioning to the bandages and antibacterial solution already beside the examination table. "Please sit and put your legs up." She pulled over a stool and adjusted one of the bendable lamps above her. "She did not say _how_."

Zechs snorted softly.

"Wufei revoked my shoe privilege," Duo answered.

"I see," Sally said. She sounded satisfied with the answer, or at least satisfied at the moment as she examined the task before her. She looked up from his foot, meeting his eyes, "It's good to see you, Duo."

"Likewise Sal," he answered easily, shifting on the cold metal table.

"Why don't you get us some coffee, Zechs," Sally said, not bothering to turn and watch his reaction as she picked out her tweezers from the blue solution they were submerged in.

Only Duo had a full view of the nearly imperceptible bristling and with Duo's wide grin, the smallest flush.

He cleared his throat, "Two sugars?"

"Uh huh," Sally answered.

Duo opened his mouth.

"I know," Zechs said, seeking to regain some semblance of casual and control.

The grin only grew.

Zechs turned heel and left.

"Whatcha wanna talk about Sal?" Duo said knowingly, schooling a wince as she prodded at the first shard in his foot.

"You think I can work with that oaf over my shoulder?"

Duo snickered. "You've worked under live fire."

She waved her hand, as if to physically shoo the past away.

"Don't tell me you like this safe clean lab better," he teased.

There was something about the old times that made him feel better. Made him remember how he used to act. Like slipping on the long garish cape of a magician. That's why they wore costumes. Slipping on the cape helped to slip into the role. The functioning ego. The algorithms and clever dodges of acting the public space. The prestige, the bow, curtain.

Seeing Sally allowed him to slip on who he used to be. It was a bit rusted but amusing nonetheless. It was fun. He was fun back then. It was comforting to read the script of an old part. Read an old book he used to know by heart.

"One down!" She said, dropping the glass shard in the dish with a ping.

"Good work soldier," he congratulated, wiggling his toes.

Sally smacked the top of his foot with her hand with the warning, "Cut it."

He sighed, leaning back on his palms. He stared down the length of his body to the crown of her bowed head over his foot. He stared up at the blank white ceiling. He stared over at the wires in the room. The cabinets. The medical paraphernalia. He was waiting.

She pulled out another piece of glass.

"You look like shit, Duo." She said. She did not look up from his foot.

And there it was.

"Zechs could've stuck around for that," he complained.

"Not a juicy enough blow?" She looked up from his foot then, staring him straight in the eye.

He looked away, back to the cabinets before craning his head to the side as he looked back down at her. Concern, accusation, frustration, exasperation. It was a lighter look. He knew Sally well enough to know she could throw the heavy ones. He appreciated the lighter touch.

It, after-all, had been awhile.

Questions could be asked, sure. But he was not in the mood to feel accosted. He was not in the mood for _I know you_. _I know this_. _The truth_.

"I eat," he answered, shrugging. "The air on L2 sucks."

"I suggest you move," she replied. "You need that. Air. And more, you know, food. Forget survival training?" Her eyes were back on his foot. The tease sounded contemplative.

"I've been trying to forget a lot of things," he answered with a sigh. "Ain't working for shit though."

"What are you eating," Sally said. _What are you not eating_.

He did not answer.

"Your blood used to clot better than this."

"I'm a bleeder now?" Duo protested, feigning an aghast look. "Try again."

She pulled out another shard and it dropped in the dish with a ping before she dropped the tweezers back in the solution with a clang. "Duo," It was sharp and again the exasperation. Her grey eyes narrowed. She did not want to play.

It was a standoff.

Duo sighed. She did not deserve to lose. Even if she held no cards. He could not bear to beat her while she was tending to his wound.

"Nutrient shakes. Beans. Crackers. Apples," The last word sounded both hopeful and soothing. See? Healthy.

She shook her head. Grabbing the tweezers back out of the antiseptic solution. The impasse averted as quickly as it arose. She made a clucking sound with her tongue. "I didn't know you acquired a taste for chalk." And humor is always the balm.

"Never got to go to much school." It was an ancient reference to chalkboards that had not existed for hundreds of years.

She bit back a cackle at his quick wit, shaking her head. He was a piece of work.

When she met his eyes again, his smile was almost charming.

"Amusing as ever, Duo," She conceded, removing the final shard from his foot.

Ping.

She washed it down with antiseptic solution without a word of warning.

Duo was a veteran of her care. He knew it stung. She knew he'd take it with a small gasp and some snark to distract her from that gasp.

"Right back at ya, babe," He said with a drawl.

Certain things never changed.

Other things were constantly on the move.

"Nutrient shakes-" she paused as she watched him roll his eyes at the lecturing tone. "Nutrient shakes" she continued again with a frown, "are not meant to be a part of any diet for a prolonged period of time. They-"

He opened his mouth to protest.

"_They-_" she stressed louder, "Are meant for short duration with limited space and harsh conditions. Zero grav. Deep mining. Dropoffs. _They _do not hold all the essential ingredients meant to sustain a healthy body and NO while something like beans and rice might provide the body with all the essential amino acids there are other minerals and nutrients necessary to sustain life that cannot be generated by your body de novo and therefore must be supplied by your diet." Out of air, she pulled in a deep breath and exhaled, eyes bright "..You idiot." She finished.

He scowled, looking away, stiffening as he saw Zechs come in the door with three coffees balanced precariously in his hands.

He shot Sally (whose back was to the door) a warning look.

She knew she had the trump card. She opened her mouth.

"Fine. FINE." Duo said. He shot her an accusing look for cheating.

She shrugged. He looked like a skeleton.

"We'll see," she demured. The threat was still on the table.

He sighed, accepting the coffee from Zechs and shrugging off the question on his face.

"You can set it down on the table," Sally said to the Merquise, bandaging Duo's foot.

There was a slight hesitation before Zechs did as he was told.

"Mmmm" Duo murmured. It had been awhile since he had smelled the earthy biting aroma of coffee and tasted the sharp bite on his tongue. The scalding warmth down his throat. It was strange, but coffee always reminded him of dirt. Not that he was tasting dirt. But like the coffee held the consciousness of the dark foreign soil the trees grew in. Colombian jungle dirt. Volcanic ash dirt. Foothills of mountains dirt. The primordial decomposed decades of Earth-time. Memories and stories and death smashed up into dark moist ground. Dirt fascinated him. Soil-dirt. Real dirt. From Earth. The novelty of it never waned. Some people on Earth still payed to be buried in it. He'd like that. Buried in the deep dark coffee ground.

He swallowed another gulp, blinking slow in appreciation.

During those months in L2-exile he had tried hard not to miss Things. He succeeded, mostly. He angrily shoved a lot of Things away. Cut down. Cut back. Back to basics. Surviving alone. Again. Good at it. Made for it.

He missed this though.

Hurt to admit. All the shoving aside. All the doing-without. All the just fine. Just better like this.

It was a lie. At least about this one thing.

He had missed coffee.

"All done!" Sally said brightly.

Duo looked down at his foot. And so it was.

She did not have to ask about the pressure of the bandage.

Her coffee was still untouched.

His eyes flickered over the travel cup and back to her face.

Zechs sat down in a chair across the room, cross his legs as he pulled out his small pocket laptop. He knew better than to interfere in the past.

"I drink tea," She said. It was soft. An explanation. She did not care that Zechs was still in the room, albeit across from them. This was tit for tat. One explanation for one explanation.

Duo groaned before grinning as he shook the bangs out of his face. He should have remembered that she somehow always played dirty _and_ fair. Her own strange code. He should not have wasted his question on something so mundane. He pushed himself up. Scooting forward and pushed off the table.

"Thanks Sal," he said, looking down at the neatly tied bandage.

"Hold it," she commanded as he moved towards the door. She was rummaging through a drawer. She held up her prize triumphantly, tossing them towards him. Hospital socks with those rubber traction marks on the sole.

He grinned in thanks as he clutched them to his chest. She gave him a look of NOW.

He sighed and leaned against the wall, putting his foot through one sock, and then more gingerly over the bandaged one. He stared down at his one chunky bandaged fail-foot. It felt better at least to put weight on it.

Duo looked back up at her. Satisfied?

She frowned.

"Don't worry, I'll take my vitamins" _Mom._ Something tightened in his chest. The word. That word. Wouldn't quite tumble from his mouth. He wished he could use it in jest. To utter something so foreign to his speech would throw a red flag. He could not get away with using that word in _this _company. They would know. He was not that good of an actor. He knew better than to try it. It angered him. That he was insecure enough with his acting to use a word like that. If his acting was not flawless. If he did not have confidence in it, which that word proved, there could be other slip-ups. He wondered about the other cracks in his performance. The whole film could be called into question. He struggled to school his face. The tightness creeped up his chest and into his throat.

"That's" she threw up her hands. "No. Not vitamins. Those things," she set down the clipboard she was holding like she was preparing for a debate speech. He was cringing away. She switched tactics, talking slower, soothing.

She would be a good mom one day.

"Oddly enough it's just food. Vitamins and shakes are packed with positive things, but they are not absorbed by the body how they are supposed to be. We are made to eat the food from this Earth. The pectin inside an apple is held in a substance meant to digest in the stomach just long enough for the body to utilize it all. The potassium inside a banana. The supplements are part of the problem. Bodies do not want to work on powders and chalk and distilled chemical substances. It wants living, alive food. It wants vitamins inside perfectly crafted vehicles of absorption."

"Remind me to call an apple that next time," he sounded tired. This was exhausting. It took effort to squeeze language past his tight throat. It was time for the curtain to draw on the crowd. It had been fun, assuming his old self. But it was all catching up to him. This was more than he talked and grinned in months. He felt like a spectacle. All eyes on him. Hounded. He had not remembered that it felt like this to keep this up all the time. How draining.

He shifted on his feet uncomfortably. He was growing nervous.

Her eyes held an apology. She had realized she pushed too far. It was hard to hold back when she saw him so rarely.

That made it worse. Caught. Slipups and fucked up. She always knew how fucked up he really was.

A good mom. At least the way Mom would be in his mind. If he had to make one from clay.

She moved forward, giving him a cold pat-on-the-back-kind of hug goodbye. He was grateful. He could not handle more than that. The warmth of other familiar good-to-see-you hugs.

She pressed a lollipop into his fingers. The small smile on her lips sparked with the sardonic expression in her eyes. She was trying to fix it now. Two actors on stage. One loses his line. The other's eyes say 'just follow me. roll with it. I'll get you back. deep breath. see here's the rhythm, act natural. you'll remember if you relax.'

"You play dirty," he said finally, twisting the cherry lollipop in his fingers. It sounded incredulous. He had forgotten so much of how it felt to be around her. Around anyone really.

"It's good to see you Duo," she said firmly. She winked. "The word is rough. Two older brothers," she excused.

"Tomboy," he breathed. It was weak, but they were finding their rhythm again.

"Girl," she shot back.

He snickered. "Good to see you too, Sal"

She turned back towards the table, beginning to busy herself with cleaning up. "Take the Prince with you, will ya?"

Zechs looked up from his computer screen. Feigning that he was engrossed in his work.

Sally snorted. It held the accusation. _Liar._ "A pleasure as always, Zechs."

He closed his laptop screen, standing up and moving swiftly towards her, Duo, and the door.

"As always," he replied smoothly once he was closer to her. "Next time I can get you tea," It sounded low and veiled. A simple sentence, delivered like the slip of an assassin's blade in the night.

Her cheeks flushed. She did not answer.

Zechs held her eyes for a moment. His look was cold and deep and long enough to make her squirm. Dark like the bottom of a lake. She turned away in discomfort. He tossed his head having won. Hair swishing like a mane. Not so unlike a fancy Kentucky Saddlebred in a paddock with his mares. A nostril-flaring war-horse. The horse of a King.

Duo grinned at that thought. Ridiculous. Endearing. Dork.

The nobility was as easy to tease as it was intimidating. A strange combination.

The Merquise turned to look at the boy. His shoulders were cowed a bit. Like despite his best efforts he was trying to disappear. Sometimes the body tries to teleport despite the will of the mind to keep appearances.

Duo looked exhausted. He wavered on his feet.

Something behind the boy's mouth had Zechs hesitate wrap his arm around his waist.

Sure enough, Duo was moving out the door ahead of him.

Correct assumption. The boy was in no mood to be helped along.

They moved down the quiet corridor silently. Zechs slowing his long stride as much as he dared without offending. Duo stoically refusing to favor his bandaged socked foot.

They reached the elevator once more.

Ping.

* * *

><p>REVIEWS:<p>

snowdragonct: I love a stubborn Duo too. I view all the gundam pilots as impossibly stubborn really. They have their own forms of how it manifests but stubborn for sure. I think the situation that they all grew up in, a lot of autonomy, a lot of personal decision making (decision-making with grave consequences) forced them to only live their own way. They had no one else to rely on. So even if it's wrong (as decisions sometimes are) they could each at least cling to the validation that it was their's to make. their demons. their mistakes. and thus their guilt and regret to carry. It is more daunting and damning when you cannot blame your life on the others. They never had the luxury of beginning to place the blame elsewhere. Too many actions in the series (in my opinion) were made alone. So there is no illusion in Duo that he is a pawn following anyone else's will but his own. It's only his way. That's all he knows. All he has. Such a fun character. I adore him. Thanks for reading and reviewing as always! I always look forward to your insights and what you have to say!


	5. Chapter 5: As You Are Now

Title: Rendered Living

Chapter 5: As You Are Now

Author: Gillywrist

As always, my dearest readers, reviews are most welcome and greatly appreciated.

* * *

><p>"Can I go now?" It sounded strange. A little breathless.<p>

They were still in the elevator.

Duo was leaning heavily on the backwall.

_No._ "Yes," Zechs answered, moving forward to press the button for the basement garage. Une had requested to see them both again to go over procedure. A couple documents should have been delivered to his office by now. These things, however pressing, could be handled at a time that was not _Now_.

A weak smile crossed Duo's face, eyebrow raised a bit in question. He said nothing.

Zechs was grateful. It would have been uncomfortable to explain why Duo's request was a higher priority then the Lady's orders.

He'd deal with her later.

The elevator changed it's direction and began it's descent down, down, down.

The doors slid open and Zechs was moving out of that metal box, leading the way as swiftly as he dared as he weaved between the rows of parked cars. He stopped beside a sleek black one, unlocking the doors with the press of a button.

Duo whistled in mock-appreciation.

Zechs ducked his head as he climbed in, busying himself by moving some documents and folders off his passenger seat to beat the flush trying to climb to his cheeks. These were not important documents of any kind. Those he would never leave on the seat of his car. If anything, they were unimportant documents of no-kind. Hardly even "Preventer" business. He kept them there, riding along side him on the passenger seat because he would read them during a stake-out, lunch, or when he would drive up the hill overlooking the twinkling lights of the city. It was research. Journalist research, really. Boring public documents about budgets and other things per capita. Everything always, per capita. If you read enough background you could start to predict events like Nostradamus. That's what it meant anyway, in Latin. Per capita. By means of. The means in which the world would try to explode next. _Not by my hand this time_. He winced, glancing up at Duo in a rush. Distractions. The public documents were a constant reminder that he prevented that now. The explosion of the world. Guilt.

The tired eyes held a question.

"Public research," Zechs answered with a wave of his hand.

That was not the question.

Zech's pulled out the parking spot, flashing his ID at the gate guard, before pulling out onto the road.

It was late in the day. The sun would be setting soon. The roads were congested with evening traffic but Zechs could flip on his police lights. It was not even a question. He detested traffic. It reminded him of government bureaucracy. Everything and anything involving humans was always so impossibly slow and Democratic. A tedious fumbling mess. It takes so much effort to make a republic. So much for the glory of Rome.

There was still the question.

"My place," Zechs tried again.

Duo opened his mouth in protest.

"Please."

"I'm not free to go?" It sounded as lyrical as a question but there was a bitter acid in those words. Duo shifted on his seat, glancing sharply out the window.

"Yes, you are," Zechs answered finally, checking his rear-view before switching lanes. They cruised up the on-ramp onto one of the faster by-ways, Zechs flipped off his police lights. Finally, a more open road.

"I left some paperwork at home," Zechs said, schooling his voice with apology. "and I wanted to speak with you. Alone."

"And then I'm going to the port," Duo chewed on his lip. He did not have the credits for public transport. He did not have anything on him. No ID. Nothing. He'd have to sneak over to the commercial side of the port and stowaway. Easy. Duo frowned. Exhausting. Easy but exhausting. He wiggled the toes of his bandaged foot, testing for pain. Do-able. He sighed, staring out the window and thinking about The Grapes of Wrath he had left behind. He had to go. It was time to go. He shifted in his seat with rising mania. He still felt captive.

"_Hey_," It sounded soft, trying to pull his attention. "I'll take you to the port after. _Hey_" Zechs tried again, holding a pack of 27s in his hand. _Trust me_.

Duo hesitated. _I thought it was Red 100s_.

"I switched a year ago." It was strange. That Zechs knew the question this time. Strange that 27s were what Duo used to smoke. Back when he smoked. And if he ever had the choice of brand.

"Yea, ok," Duo said, pulling one out of the pack. "Thanks."

The coincidence reminded him of the roaring of some distant wave. A big one. A tsunami. The rumblings of Something's Coming in the deep. It was too much. He was so tired. He swallowed hard. Zechs was pressing a lighter into his numb fingers.

Something about cigarettes always felt like the appropriate action before an execution. The last chance to contemplate deep thoughts and make peace like a nihilist. He felt that. Execution. Something was surely being dragged to the chopping block. Something was going to be stripped from him without his choice. The mania was still rising. It was hard to keep his head above it's waters.

Zechs maneuvered his car off the by-way like it was split second decision. Exit 7, Duo noted. There were trees. A lot of trees.

"I don't live here," Zechs said finally, waiting until Duo had lit his cigarette, opened the window, and taken a deep drag. They had been driving up a smaller road. Uphill. Zechs parked the car. "I come here to think sometimes."

Duo got out of the car wordlessly, walking to the edge of the steep overhang of land. He did not know if it was a mountain or hill or a cliff. It seemed like all of them combined. The colonies did not have interesting geography. He did not know what constituted a mountain as different from a hill. It seemed relative. Everything did. His freedom even. Relative.

The city that the hill-cliff overlooked was beginning to twinkle. The orange tungsten tones of the by-way lights. The fluorescent green tones peaking out from windows. Little squares of light switching on in random fashion as the day drew to a close.

Duo took another drag, moving his head back over to the sky. It was drawing close to his favorite time. After sunset, after the sky went magenta with the light of the day, after that, the brilliant bright blue of twilight. The sky was so rich, so very blue. He hoped they would stay outside long enough to see it. And during that, the planets began to peak out. The moon. And then the sky turned into outer space. He missed being among the stars. Earlier, imprisoned by the Preventers, hardly counted.

It would be easier to stowaway a commercial cruiser under cover of dark anyway, he reasoned.

Really, for the first time, in this place, part of him could stay awhile. The mania was slipping from him and dissolving the the darker shadows of the trees. He drew a deep breath, staring at the burning ember of his cigarette. Somewhere his head was buzzing with accusations and questions, but he could not grasp them in a space like this. Everything was falling away.

"Do you?" Duo tried.

Zechs nodded, lighting a cigarette of his own. "I come here often. The city starts to look like a galaxy cluster this far away. Above it like this, it looks so full of promise."

"And in it, it just feels like shit," Duo finished. He could have grinned. He liked finishing the more vulgar side of Zech's thoughts but he still felt annoyed, onguard, exhausted. So he spoke in a flat tone, face blank. The mania was leaving, yes, but it did not change what was left. For that to change, he needed to be filled with something else. And this was a feeling of the leaving, the draining, not the filling up of a Thing. He leaned on the hood of the sleek shiny car for support, taking some weight off his bandaged foot.

They were silent. Breathing in and out in tandem as they watched the city.

"I don't know where to begin," Zechs said finally, leaning forward before tucking the stray blonde hairs that fell in his face behind an ear. He looked over at the boy with the braid, lost and almost mournfully.

Duo shivered at the tone and temperature. As the sun dropped the air cooled. The tree shadows felt cold. It was a beautiful summer evening, but his body had acclimated to the hot dry temperatures of L2. These temperatures felt moist. The earth temperatures in a forest. Wet and cooling. His body was not used to it. His ears were not used to hearing words with gravity.

"I want to start at the beginning," Zechs continued. "But I can't pick a point early enough." His small smile had a bit of force behind it. "I want to keep jumping earlier."

"Why," Duo answered.

Zechs shook his head, blonde hair falling all over his face again. "I don't know." They were silent. The cicadas were waking up, warming up, like an orchestra would. Tuning. "About what," He said finally. Wearily. Warily. "which Why?"

Duo did not answer.

"I have a lot to be accountable for," Zechs said finally, lifting his ice blue eyes to the boy's troubled face. _Duo_?

"What's the noise," Duo said finally, distractedly. His shoulders were tensing.

"Cicadas. Like crickets. An evening bug. They chirp all night here in the summer."

"It's so loud." There was a glimmer of wonder in his voice.

"We are safe here. When they go quiet they are scared. It's good when they keep chirping."

Duo cautiously relaxed a bit at that, taking another drag from his cigarette.

"Don't you have questions?" Zechs asked. He wanted to deal with it now. He could not bear it any longer really. What the other could think of him. He wanted the reckoning. Had waited patiently for it. Held back from showing up on L2 trying to explain what he had no words for. He was respectful. Kept his distance. Waited. Still waiting. He did not care about the world's judgement really. He was waiting on the verdict of this boy.

Silence.

"Why," Duo said. It was soft. Almost lost under the growing cacophony of the cicadas. Here it was. "Why," he said again. Duo squeezed his eyes shut. This was awfully embarrassing. Why everything. Why destroy earth. Why let me go. Why ever be kind to me then. Still kind to me now. Why friends. or Were friends, his mind finally settled there and it tumbled past his teeth "Why didn't you come to L2 if you knew where I was."

Zech's ducked like the question was a baseball pitch to the head. He had been trying to jump backwards for context and explanation. For nuance. Like if he explained it all since his birth there would be a more cohesive rhyme or reason. Patterns. Pathology. This was a question of conclusion. A question of As You Are Now and what that means. A question asked about a time that was Too Late. Weighed in scales and found wanting. As ever. A question hit home. Homeplate. Home-run. Too close to the body to hit out of the park.

The cicadas were building their symphony. Some Moonlight Nocturne by Castlevania.

He had no answer for this.

He looked at the boy. No answer would not do when he had been the one to ask him for a question in the first place. "I," Zechs cleared his throat, re-lighting his since-dead cigarette. He took a drag, mouth pursed thoughtfully. It had been a long time since he had talked in truth. A year. Since he last saw the boy, probably. "I didn't think," That much was obvious. "I could bear answering all I was," Zechs frowned. "Am still. Accountable for. To you." He sighed. "I figured, if you wanted the answers you would find me."

"I thought you were dead," Duo all but seethed.

Zechs nodded. "I know. I thought it was better that way. But then I sent the radio so you knew I was not. And I just."

"I thought it was some cruel cosmic joke," Duo said, tossing his cigarette on the ground and looking back over the lights of the city. "Like your ghost had figured out how to haunt me." He scanned the horizon before coming back to the more immediate forest. The trees looked like black lace against the turning-twilight sky. Duo hugged his body, hunching over a bit on the hood of the car. "You did haunt me."

"I knew," and it was hard to keep the steel from his voice, "I knew you would think of me differently. Like an enemy. And I couldn't-"

"You didn't _know_," Duo cut off. "ME."

And there it was. Zechs winced.

"You think so fucking little of me. Like some gutter kid. Like I wouldn't fucking get blowing up the goddamn earth. You throw this shit around like it ain't nothing Merquise. Friendship and shit. Everything." Duo pulled in a deep breath. It was calm and slow these words. It troubled both of them. "And then you reappear. Like the goddamn magician when I'm out of cards. When I can't say _no_." Duo stopped, pulling back on his anger by pulling in a drag.

"You can," Zechs said finally. "Say no. I can take you to the space port now."

Duo snorted. "But that doesn't change it. This favor. It's not free."

Zechs mouth fell open in protest.

"It sure as shit doesn't _feel _free Merquise"

"I'm sorry," Zechs said finally, dropping the cigarette from his cold fingers. He blinked a couple times, trying to focus on the foliage around them. "I'm sorry. I don't know anything." He exhaled like he was holding the weight of the world. "I should just," he stopped. "I'm sorry. I don't know what to do."

Duo frowned, ripping his eyes from the city lights to look at the man. "I don't know either." The man look crestfallen. Old. Hunched over.

Duo swallowed, fighting off any empathy. Struggling to hold fast to his year long belief. There was only one good way it ever ends. And it ended. In the middle. And it was good like that. Just fine. Keep on keeping on. There was nothing left. If the story continued it would only have a tragic conclusion. It was too late. For life. For death. For anything.

"I read books," the words slid past before he could close his mouth. Staring at those sad blue eyes. "Lots of books. Classics. Things I remembered from your shelves and when I finished, others. Dr. Zhivago, Eric Fromm, Chomsky, Hemingway." He grinned a bit. It was weak but real, reaching. "I'm reading Steinbeck now."

Those blue eyes widened in confusion.

"I thought you would've liked it. When I was thinking you were dead. I wanted to, had wanted to, talk to you about that stuff. As an equal. I never went to an Academy and"

The sentence just stood there. Hanging.

And.

There was an And. And so maybe all was not yet lost.

"It's getting cold," Zechs said finally with a puzzled frown. The voice was gentler. Quieter. Calmer.

It was beginning again. The beginnings of what must begin. For Everything does begin again in time.

Those beginnings were in Duo's eyes now. At that frowned condolence there was something. It was not there yet, but it could come. Zechs wouldn't dare even whisper it, the thought had not even congealed into words, but he, because of this now, he could maybe. They could maybe. It all was not lost, at least.

There is a sadness in this, these thoughts. There had been a surrender in the death of it's done. It's over. Destroyed. Too late. There had been a peace in the failure of it all. Not quite in the living. But that the living was done. The peace of This Is The Last Time. The weight of an ounce of hope can crush a man who had comforted himself with none. There is a comfort to emptiness, to the vacuum. That's what Zech's life had been. The vacuum of protocol and Preventer projects and briefs.

Hope comes with gravity. Hope is The Story Continues. Hope is It Ain't Over Yet.

Duo was too tired to be terrified. All his exhausted brain could muster was an agonizing sadness. It Wasn't Over Yet. And so he would have to once again, make plans for the future.

He blinked slowly and drew in a deliberate breath. He licked his lips with the gravity of it all. These were many thoughts to have, but like in dreams, many thoughts happen in an instant.

There hadn't been much of a pause. He could take his time and needed it.

"It is cold," Duo agreed finally, measured and slow. "Take me back to your place." He met Zechs eyes.

It broke. If you were an angel the crack would have been deafening. Whatever had been was broken now. Virginity given and taken. It snapped. It shattered. What they had been attempting could not be put back together. The all that time lost. And the it's too late.

They were in the past again. How they had been once before. For that brief time they were smashed together. When Duo once got to know the man.

"Of course," Zechs answered, moving back towards the driver-side door. "Duo" It was soft and familiar. It was growing again.

Duo looked at him with the same sadness of how useless it always was between them. They both knew too well the heaviness of hope.

The name simply hung there between them. Zechs had lost the rest of the sentence. And Duo nodded, sliding off the hood of the car and moving towards the passenger door like he heard it anyway.

They were screwed.

And they both sat down inside the vehicle in silence, needing the solitude as they both recognized the gravity of The Beginnings Again.

They had both needed it. These minutes, this sunset turning twilight, this day turning dusk. They had needed it like it had been a half-life this past year, like it had been hard and starving, to have so often and always done without.

Duo squeezed his eyes shut as his mind ghosted over the year of books and beans and fixing clocks and loneliness. He had been starving himself of everything he needed to make a point. He gritted his teeth as he struggled to remember what the point was. How guilty he had been to find himself rendered living. And how hard he had tried to die in hundreds of little ways. To close down and shut off and shut up. He felt nauseous. He could not pinpoint the point of it all. Not with him here, anyway. It was hard to think about anything. It was always pretend or loss-for-words.

But there was a craving in him now somewhere so deep it hurt. He could not have find cohesive thoughts but his feelings were like a roar. Like the rumblings of an earthquake, it was deep in the down below. Like the rumblings of an earthquake, the frequency was slow and dark and in the vast stretches of the deep.

Like the rumblings of an earthquake, deep down at its core, it moved in rhythm like the slow rhythmic beat of a shaman's drum. Dum. Dum. Dum.

It was mimicked in their heartbeats, now falling into time.

They were breathing slower, blinking slower, in and out. Dum. Dum. Dum.

Zechs slowly maneuvered the car into a K-turn, mindful of the narrow stretch of road and the trees at the edge of either curb.

"I'm sorry too," Duo finally answered. _I should have come to find you_. "Does this turn on the radio?" He asked as he pressed a button on the dash. It was on talk radio so he gave it a flick of his wrist.

Zech's bit back a troubled smile as they turned onto a more open road as they made their way back to the highway.

And old man was crooning about magnolias and his baby. Duo didn't recognize it. But it sounded old and dusty. He liked it that way. Ancient and old like a time long forgotten.

The boy grabbed another smoke from the box in one of the empty car cup holders. Lighting it and leaning back in the leather seat. Trying to relax. Trying to just be casual until he could imagine some semblance of what that word might actually mean.

Zechs flew past the cars on the road with practiced ease.

There was quiet between them but it felt easier.

And the sky was finally twilight's brilliant bright blue.

* * *

><p>* For anyone interested, in my mind, the song on the radio is JJ Cale's Magnolia<p>

REVIEWS:

wind dancer1981: I am glad you are glad!

snowdragonct: Please call an apple that the next chance you get haha. I enjoyed the banter between Duo and Sally as well. It was amusing to write. And yes, the mom thing. I felt bad too. Some things are too close (or perhaps it's too far) to joke about I guess.

Gabbi1994: I'm glad I brightened the day for you! Hah! describing him as the right amount of wrong in the head reminded me of a line from Stephen in the movie Braveheart. Haha. I think the line was "I didn't like him anyway. _He wasn't right in the head_." Anyway. I'm glad Duo amuses you and that Duo-thought can make your day. It's a pleasure to hear! I think we all have our different ways of being wrong in the head sometimes. I'm glad you enjoy Duo. I enjoy him very much.


End file.
